


The Blanket Fort, and other stories

by BellatrixTheStar



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixTheStar/pseuds/BellatrixTheStar
Summary: A series of Narnia one-shots told to you by a mysteriously jaded narrator who is definitely not wording this summary to make himself seem more enigmatic. Written for the Adventures in Narnia forum's February writing challenge (ff.net). Rated T to be safe, but those who know me know that my stories tend towards the tame end of the spectrum.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Blanket Fort

**Prompt 1# Blanket Fort**

_Early hours of the morning,  
_ _London, September 1940_

It reminded Lucy of the fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The situations would have been more comparable if fireworks were humongous, aimed with deadly accuracy by enemy soldiers, and didn't destroy houses or kill people, but they weren't. What _was_ similar though, was the unpredictable sounds of the explosions that split the silent night every few minutes.

_BOOM._

Lucy huddled deeper under her blanket, inhaling the warm, thin air in shallow breaths. Her hands shook as she clutched at the fabric of the doona, as if by making sure that it covered every inch of her, every inch would be protected if a bomb fell on their small and insignificant house.

You see, the thing about bombs is that you can't really protect other people from them. Not when you're all sleeping in the same house. Putting yourself between someone else and a bomb doesn't really do much except ensure you're blown to pieces together. Which, I suppose, in this narrator's humble opinion, could be a comfort to some.

It certainly wasn't a comfort to poor Lucy, who was too scared to even flee from her bed to her older sister's, which was on the other side of the room.

If you're wondering why Susan didn't invite the poor shaking girl over herself, I would tell you not to keep your wonderings to yourself. However, just this once, I'll entertain you.

It was the early days of the Blitz, and neither knew the other well enough in fear to know what to do about the other. To not only think of the other above yourself when the stars rain down in fiery death, but to know how to comfort them when you hear them whimper. I would wager that neither of these two young girls were quite mature enough to think to do that yet. In contrast, find mothers are particularly good at this, but that's besides the point. You came here for a good yarn, didn't you? And I'm here rambling on like an old codger with a pipe and rocking chair! Goodness me.

 _BOOM_.

Susan lay, staring at the ceiling as her world fell to pieces around her. If the room were lighter, you'd be able to see her white-knuckled hands clenching around a locket containing a family photo from before all this started (and by 'all this', I mean The War).

If you care to know her thoughts, and mind you, I expect a penny for them, she was thinking that the only thing left to be grateful about was that her father, at least, was not in the same danger as them. She supposed that the army would at least be more financially able to provide proper bomb shelters. If I had been there at the time, I would have pointed out that he, being a soldier, was in arguably _more_ danger than she, but I suppose that wouldn't be very empathetic.

In the next room over, the two boys were awake as well. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that both were equally as terrified, but one was too prideful to admit it, and the other wasn't going to offer comfort that would only be rejected.

Peter was trying to stop his mind from worrying itself to pieces so he could get some sleep. But there were too many things to worry about, and too many explosions for that to happen. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, either a bomb went off, or he imagined various members of his family being killed, with himself being, to various degrees, at fault. As you can imagine, that left him, quite like his sister, staring at the ceiling within a high tide of unrelenting wakefulness.

Edmund, on the other hand, kept falling asleep, however, as soon as the next bomb went off, he was wide awake again. You might wonder why he, unlike his siblings, was able to sleep at all, but in asking that, you've clearly forgotten that while this was the beginning of the Blitz, it wasn't the first night the Pevensies had been kept up by an air raid and sheer terror can only really keep you awake for so long.

In the final bedroom, up the hall from the other two, the final occupant of the house, the mother, was alone. And frightened. But mostly alone.

_BOOM._

A whimper from down the hall.

So, as she was a mother, she decided to put aside her own fear.

Her bare feet touched the cold wooden floorboards, cold, even as the Summer faded, and winter set in. She trod carefully and, upon reaching the girl's bedroom, softly opened the door.

Placing her hands on the thoroughly blanketed lump that had taken the place of her youngest daughter, she gently stroked the place where Lucy's head should be.

"Mum?"

"Yes, dear, it's me," Helen said, crouching beside the bed as Lucy created a small space where she could poke her head through.

"Mum," the little girl sobbed, abandoning the relative unsafety of her covers for the just as unsafeness of her mother's arms. Not that safety was really the point though… I'll just shut up now.

Susan, hearing the exchange from her side of the room, grabbed the blanket off her own bed and hurried to join them. For, while feeling a little guilty that she hadn't noticed her little sister's terror, Susan herself was really in just as much terror, and she didn't want to miss out if her mother was handing out comfort.

They huddled together for a moment, Susan's quilt shielding the three of them, and in keeping each other close, there was a moment of reprieve.

But it couldn't last forever.

 _BOOM_.

Lucy flinched.

Susan shivered.

Helen stood up, bringing Lucy and Susan with her.

"Now, I need to get the boys. Can you two bring your blankets and pillows downstairs?"

"Yes," Susan said, as Lucy threw her arms again around Helen's middle, burying her face in her mother's stomach. The mother stroked the little girl's hair and gently separated them, directing Lucy's clinging arms towards Susan.

Then she left them to their task, feeling her way in the dark towards the boy's door.

She went immediately to the youngest's bed again, softly placing her hand on Edmund's shoulder.

"Mum?" he said, hastily swiping at his eyes, as if removing sleep, but Helen knew better. Mostly because the collar of his pyjamas was damp from silent salty tears.

"I doubt any of us are going to get any sleep tonight, so I thought we may as well be together. Would you and Peter mind bringing your blankets and pillows into the living room?" she asked in a whisper, quickly brushing a few strands of hair off her son's forehead.

Peter didn't need to be told.

He was already standing and gathering his blanket and pillow in a shadowed bundle of softness.

"Hey Ma," he asked softly, "D'ya want me to grab the spare set in the linen cupboard?"

"That would be lovely," she told him, gripping his shoulder briefly, then pulling back.

They all met in the living room moments later, bundles of blankets and pillows in their arms. They were questioning, but the questions seemed to ease some of their fear, for as everyone knows, it's easier to be less afraid when you were distracted by a task.

"Now, Ed and Pete, can you move those chairs to the middle and set them up, so their backs create a circle?"

They set to work in a deathly silence, punctuated only by the occasional _BOOM_ from outside, causing everyone to flinch. Which would be understandable, but for the fact that if you could _hear_ the explosion, you were definitely not exploded…I've been politely informed that the majority of you don't care to hear my 'scathingly sceptical comments', in which case, from now on I'll keep them to myself.

Then Helen had them all tucking in blanket roofs, covering the cold floorboards with blanket carpets, constructing blanket walls, and finally, arranging the pillows inside.

The final wall had to be completed from the inside, as by that point they were all already inside their flimsy fort. But, somehow, once the wall was correctly positioned, they all seemed to relax. The sounds of the bombs faded away, and they all curled up on top of the blanket, heads on their own pillows.

Lucy and Peter sandwiched Helen, Susan and Edmund close on either side, all snuggled up together within the non-existent protections of fabric and feathers. It was very ineffective, but I suppose you'd all like to know that they survived the night (no thanks to the blankets). Even more miraculously, in my opinion, they all fell asleep shortly before dawn, seeming to feel safe enough in each other's company.

So, I suppose the moral of the story is – what? You don't want a moral? Then what are you going to take out of all this? That blanket forts make good protection against bombs? I think not!

The moral of the story is this: blankets make horrible protection if you're defending against bombs, and so do houses for that matter.

No, that's an awful moral, I'd better think of something else.

Okay, let's try this: I suppose blankets aren't too bad when it comes to defending the human heart and creating a false sense of security.

…actually, you may have been right. I don't think this story really needs a moral.


	2. Death by Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, you want to be rich?...Well, I know a cautionary tale about that!"

**Prompt 2# Living Gold**

You want to be rich? Is that what you put your trust in? Well, I know a cautionary tale about _that_!

What, you don't want a cautionary tale? Well too bad, you're stuck here until your mother gets back, so you may as well listen.

When you've been stuck at sea for long enough, the sight of land is more soothing to you than anything else a mortal could ever wish for. Doesn't matter if you thought you wanted status, money, love, or anything else the human heart longs for, when you're lost, the sight of land is the ultimate hope, the only dream worth dreaming.

And no, that's not 'it', as you say.

Well, there was once Seven Lords of Narnia, sent away to "explore the seas beyond the Lone Islands", which essentially meant, 'go away while I scheme to take my brother's throne'. But that's a tale for another time and another man.

In a series of events you could plausibly equate to the song 'Green Bottles Hanging on the Wall', at this point there were only five lords left in their little boat.

They had been sailing for weeks, and their provisions were almost gone. One of the storms which plagued the Eastern Ocean had torn a hole in their sails and dove them further beyond all that anyone had ever thought to explore. Well, explore and then live to tell the tale.

On this particular day, the sun was blazing down on them as they floated like driftwood, beholden to the vicious seas and the relentless Northwind. None of them could decide whether staying above deck or below deck was better. Lord Restimar and Lord Rhoop seemed to be of the opinion that braving the sun at least provided the occasional cool breeze. However, the other three firmly believed that below deck, despite the humidity, was at least shady and therefore must be cooler.

So, it came to be, that when something in the distance shadowed the horizon, Restimar thought it was a mirage, a trick of the light. For what man hurries to raise his hopes when disappointment is the only likely thing that follows? Perhaps he'd been out in the sun too long, he reasoned, squinting at the tiny blob. This was, in fact, true, however in this case, his vision was not playing tricks.

As the shadow grew too big to be a cloud, Restimar moved slowly towards the stern where Rhoop was tiredly leaning on the wheel under the tattered remains of their sails. As of yet, not one of the lords had bothered repairing them, in all likelihood, because they all believed they were doomed.

"My lord, what do your eyes see as they graze the eastern horizon?" asked the weary Lord Restimar.

"Is this a trick?" asked Rhoop suspiciously, not even bothering to open his eyes, "Because if I have to look at that empty horizon even _one_ more time, I will go mad."

"It is not a trick, not that I would play such a cruel joke when I feel as if my very soul is shrivelling up from drought within me," Restimar assured his friend, "But my eyes see a faint shadow as they look, and I must make for certain that the vain hope arising within me is crushed before it grows strong enough to crush me with the disappointment of finding nothing."

Rhoop grunted, and dragged himself to his feet, squinting towards the eastern horizon.

"If it be a trick, it would take a better man than me to see it," he said finally, turning to his companion with the ghost of a hope in his eyes, "I will adjust the heading, but let us not tell the others yet. If this shared mirage is truly false, I would not have them pin their own hopes on it, lest all of us be torn asunder in despair."

And so, they adjusted their course, making for the uncharted island that represented both a hope and a promise. As it grew bigger on the horizon, the others noticed the land mass themselves and the seed that had been planted in the hearts of two was now shared by all five lords. I would tell you that the island was a promise of something worse, but that might cross the line between foreshadowing and spoiling.

On the third day, they finally reached it, lowering the anchor in a natural harbour along the island's southern side. The island was barely twenty acres and was mostly inhabited by seagulls, course, dry grass, and heather.

But best of all in the minds of the lords, was the two freshwater streams that fed directly into the harbour. The western one was surrounded by trees where it met the sea, and so the five decided to attempt to collect both water and supplies in the same place.

After a pleasant night spent around a campfire, spirits had risen to the point where Lord Argoz revealed that he had hidden the last bottle of wine, bringing it out presently in celebration of their continued survival. It's amazing what food and water after weeks of rations can do to a person. Made them rather stupid if you ask me, but then again, nobody ever does.

So, after such an excellent night of revelry and enough provisions to last them another month, all were in a state of renewed vigour, motivating them to continue their original (phoney) assignment.

Lord Mavramorn got out his cartography equipment, and Revilian his notebook for taking down details on the environment and inhabitants of the island. The rest of them armed themselves, just in case the island _was_ inhabited after all, and started walking, setting out to discover things for the other two to write down.

All five lords were admiring the view from the top of the island, but Restimar quickly became bored of gazing yet again into an empty horizon and was not enthralled by the landscape of the island as both the cartographer and scholar were. You young people are always so eager to get from here to there, it's no wonder so many of you make mistakes.

Restimar hurried off, and so it was, that he came upon the lake that sourced the eastern stream.

From a distance, it was had clear, deep water with gold-like rocks shining in the sun from below the surface. There was something so tempting about it, increased ten-fold by the fact that, as anyone knows, once you've been at sea long enough, swimming in something other than salt water is an unimaginable pleasure. And promises of unimaginable pleasure often drive people to stupid decisions.

With a gleeful laugh, the lord tore off down the hill, shedding bits of clothes, chain mail, and his sword and dagger as he went.

With a breathless giggle, he leaped into the lake.

He didn't feel anything strange for a split second apart from his hot body slicing through the cool water, but then his toes and fingers began to feel rather strange. Like when you accidently walk through a spider's web, and the sticky stuff just feels so _wrong_ on your skin. He moved to brush whatever it was off, but found he was unable.

The feeling spread to his arms, legs, chest.

With the last of his breath, he opened his mouth in an agonised scream, but that only let more water in.

And so he died.

Barely a few minutes later, Rhoop has set off after his friend, and hearing a splash, he followed it. Seeing a trail of his friend's clothes and armour, but with no obvious signs of Restimar, he cautiously approached the lake.

The breath was stolen from his lungs.  
 _That can't be,_ he thought in horror, and took a step back as his eyes frantically examined the cold dead statute in the lake.  
But it was.

Don't believe me? Well, his statue is still there on Deathwater Island, which was named by Caspian X during the Voyage of the Dawn Treader. There's your proof, not that I suggest actually going there, but that's your prerogative I suppose.

When the other lords discovered the scene, they two were filled first with horror, and none of them spoke. Then Lord Revilian broke the silence.

"Despite this tragic end, can we not ensure his death was not in vain?" He asked his companions, turning from one to another, trying to gain support.

"And what cost, would you suppose, is worth that of the life of your friend?" Rhoop countered wearily, still staring at the statue of Restimar.

"Well, our friend here discovered a veritable fountain of wealth!" Revilian exclaimed, gesturing at the deceptively tranquil lake containing a gold-glazed corpse.

"But what need for we of wealth?" Mavramorn said, considering the suggestion practically, "We are lost, blown on a course towards the end of the world. We only came upon this island by chance, and the chances of us bringing the news to Narnia, then returning to this very spot is highly improbable."

Don't mistake his practicality for an unwillingness to agree to the plan, if an acceptable plan was proposed to harness this, well, _unnatural_ resource. No, Mavramorn too had been enamoured by the idea proposed by Revilian, to the point where I'd question if Restimar should have chosen his friends better.

"Improbable, perhaps, but not impossible," said Argoz, ever the opportunist, "and think of what would happen if we _did!_ Untold riches! We could make Caspian the greatest king this world has ever known!"

"Have you all gone mad?!" Rhoop said, "Our friend just _died_ and you're proposing to capitalise off it! You should be ashamed of yourselves! This place is cursed. Let's leave before another of us is killed by our own greed, like Octesian."

The lords remained in silence for a moment, each reflecting on the truth to Rhoop's words, or else the fear of sharing the fate of either Lord Octesian or Lord Restimar.

And so, Ophelia, beware of gold, which corrupts, and choose your friends wisely.

Hey, don't roll your eyes at me young lady! And the "cautionary bit", as you call it, was _not_ about the dubious wisdom of jumping into strange lakes on uncharted islands!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think we can all agree that Mr Narrator is just as horrible at telling cautionary tales as he is at imparting morals at the end of his tales. But this was the only thing I could think of that would fit the prompt and wouldn't be overdone.
> 
> Also, I've decided I really dislike unhappy endings, despite the fact that my crazy narrator seems to enjoy grim tales.
> 
> Anyway, maybe see you tomorrow?
> 
> Trix


	3. How to Babysit a Toddler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moral of the story: children are menaces.

**Prompt 3# A Diplomatic Mistake**

"But Daniel, I'm _really_ busy today! And the babysitter cancelled and you're the only person I could think of," came the voice over the phone, pleading.

"Do you think it's that easy for me? I'm also the 'only' person that Maggie _and_ Ester _and-"_

"I know, but _please_? You know I wouldn't have called unless I was desperate!"

There was a long silence before Daniel finally responded.

"…fine. Just this once."

* * *

So, kids! Your mother seems to think that an unattached bachelor like myself is always available to joyfully take care of you, as if it were so easy! Not that I should be ranting about my sister to _you_ …so who wants to hear a story?

"But Su, I-" Lucy protested as the child was unceremoniously placed in her arms.

" _Please_ Lucy! You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent," Susan said, already backing away, "And besides, you'll do fine – so there's really nothing to worry about."

And then she was gone, and Queen Lucy of Narnia was left with little Amna, the Calormen ambassador's two-year-old daughter. Amna squirmed in her arms, asking to be freed, and Lucy let her, although she firmly kept her eyes pinned on the child.

 _What am I supposed to do?_ She wondered, following Amna down the long hallway, _I'm barely thirteen! I have absolutely NO experience when it comes to babies!_

Amna was going hand over hand along the wall as she walked unsteadily but stopped when she saw a beautiful tapestry. The rich greens and golds depicted five breathtaking scenes, the first of the four monarchs arriving in Narnia beside the lamppost.

"Wow!" the tiny girl breathed, eyes lighting up as she increased her pace to get closer to the wall hanging.

"Oh, do you like it?" Lucy asked, "It tells the story of how my siblings and I became Kings and Queens." Children like stories, right? And Lucy was good at telling stories, so maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Lucy was immediately proved wrong.

"Like it!" the girl said with a smile, and then reached out, grabbing the rich green tapestry.  
Of course, now all her weight was stretching the poor tapestry downwards as Amna struggled to remain standing. And that ended about as well as you'd expect; with the tapestry rod rolling off the two flat wall brackets that held the whole thing aloft.

"No!" Lucy cried, predicting the catastrophe only an instant before it happened, and dove towards the fragile child who was now standing beneath a giant mass of falling wood and fabric.

Shielding Amna with her body, Lucy was hit rather hard by the falling rod, knocking both her and the child flat on the hard stone floor as the tapestry covered them like a blanket.  
Lucy groaned, knowing that there would be bruises all along her back by tomorrow morning. Beneath her, Amna gave a nonverbal complaint and wriggled to be let up (probably to cause more havoc, as toddlers are prone to do).

"Sorry, little one, not this time!" Lucy said as she pushed off the tapestry and got to her feet, taking the heavy two-year-old with her, "I don't know what Susan was thinking, giving you to me. I mean, out of all of us, I have the least experience, but now you're stuck with me, so we'll make do."

But it was clear our poor protagonist was in need of some serious assistance, so she racked her brains trying to think of someone who could help.

Susan, clearly the best option, was out of the question for obvious reasons.  
Peter was having a very important meeting with the Calormen ambassador himself, so he was also unreachable.  
Edmund, well, Edmund had training, but he was older than Lucy by at least a year, so he must know something, right?

So, Lucy, still awkwardly holding the squirming toddler, set off towards the training grounds.

* * *

Edmund was indeed training with Oreius and having a rather rough time of it too.  
Usually he sparred with Peter, who, while being almost as skilled as the centaur, tended to be a little gentler when it came to knocking Edmund down.  
So, when he spotted Lucy over beside the armoury, gesturing to get his attention, he was quick to call for a break.

"Hey," he puffed, "Oreius, can we pause while I go and talk to Lucy?"

"You may," the centaur rumbled, and lowered his sword.

Edmund walked swiftly over to Lucy, leaning his sword against the armoury wall, because as everyone knows, it's better never to have a conversation with a weapon in one's hand.

"What can I help you with, dearest sister?"

"Ah, well, you see…" Lucy trailed off, usure how to describe her problem. In lieu of an awkward explanation, she just held up the two-year-old who was still held in her arms.

Edmund frowned, looking from Lucy to the toddler and back to Lucy again.

"Who's this?" He finally decided to ask.

"This is Amna, the Calormen ambassador's daughter. Susan was supposed to be looking after her this afternoon, but something came up and now I'm doing it," Lucy sighed, looking a little bewildered as she stared at the little girl in her arms.

"Where's the problem?" Edmund asked, raising an eyebrow, "Susan couldn't do it, and now you're doing it. Sounds like the problem is solved."

"The problem is that I don't know a single thing about looking after a child!" Lucy huffed.  
At her tone, Amna wiggled so much that Lucy feared she'd drop the precious girl if she tried to hold on, so she put her down.

"You don't know _anything_?" Ed said dubiously, "But you're a-" He stopped, wisely leaving the sentence unfinished as Lucy narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, I'm a girl, but I'm the youngest! I've never had to look after a younger sibling, and I've certainly never babysat before" Lucy pointed out, gesturing at Amna.

"That's true enough, but why ask me?" Edmund asked, "We're so close in age that I never had to look after you or anyone else either."

"Pete and Su are busy, who was I supposed to ask?" Lucy said, smiling a little ruefully.

"Okay, well," Edmund considered, pushing back his hair from where sweat had stuck it to his forehead, "I suppose I could tell Oreius that I need to finish early today so we can figure it out together? Two heads are better than one, right?"

"Thank you!" Lucy said grinning but refrained from giving him a hug since she didn't want his sweat staining her court dress, which she was still wearing from this morning.

He grinned back, and turned towards Oreius, but froze.

"Amna, no!" He cried, and ran towards where he'd left his sword, Lucy quickly following.

In the midst of their discussion, the little girl had crawled over to where he had left it, had grabbed the hilt, and was trying to use it to help herself stand up. However, the sword's point-down position was more precarious than tiny Amna had dared suppose and leaning her weight on it would almost certainly make it fall to the ground, possibly taking Amna with it.

Edmund reached her just as the sword began to fall and was able to grasp some of the blade in a successful attempt to prevent harm coming to the babe. Unfortunately, this resulted in his blade, sharpened only this morning, deciding that if it couldn't get Amna, it would certainly cut the King who had spent hours swinging it around like a battle standard in the wind.

"Ow!" Ed groaned, wresting the weapon away from the two-year-old and grabbing the pommel with his other hand to examine his wound.

Lucy scooped up the little troublemaker and shot him a worried look.  
"Are you okay?"

"It's nothing serious, but I'm certainly getting out of practice for the rest of the day," Ed said, trudging over to Oreius to make the necessary arrangements.

* * *

"So," Ed began, his palm clean and bandaged, "I think we've established that taking her to the armoury is a bad idea, so what next?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could ask a talking beast for advice," Lucy said, leading the way towards the garden, "I know it's not the same as a human baby, but they at least might know _something_."

"I suppose," Ed said doubtfully, "At the very least, the garden is probably safer than anywhere else you've taken her."

They quickly arrived and were quickly met by Robin, who, once the problem was explained, immediately agreed to help.

"The thing you should know," he told them, "is that sometimes you just have to let them jump into a dangerous situation, because that's the only way they grow."

"I don't think the ambassador would be too pleased if we'd let his daughter get cut by a sword," Edmund argued, usure if this advice was any use to them.

"Or hit by a tapestry rod," Lucy grinned, keeping half an eye on the wandering little girl who was currently tugging at a flowering bush.

"But how else will they learn that swords cut, and tapestry rods are not firmly secured?" Robin asked, flitting from one branch to another, "When the time was right, I pushed all of my chicks out of the nest, and all of them flew! All you have to do is nudge them in the right direction and let them learn for themselves."

"Oh!" Lucy said, suddenly having a thought, "So if we nudge her towards somewhere where there isn't anything _really_ dangerous, and we keep an eye on her, then that's all we have to do?"

"That's all there is to it!" Robin chirped, bobbing his tiny head towards the two monarchs.

"Thanks for your help!" Lucy said, waving goodbye as Robin flew away.

"Boo!" Cried a young leopard as he jumped out from behind a bush, startling Amna. But it seemed he was just as surprised to see her as he was him. "Oh, sorry!" he said quickly, stepping forward to reassure the little girl, "I thought you were Jin!"

But the girl only began crying, falling backwards to fall on her bottom with a _thump_.

"Sorry, sorry!" the leopard said, taking a few steps backwards himself.

"It's alright," Lucy assured him as Edmund picked up the crying baby, "I think you both surprised each other."

"Oh, your majesties!" the young leopard said, scrambling to bow, "It was my bad, really."

"Oh, no need for that!" Lucy said quickly, "You can just call me Lucy, and besides, there was no harm done."

"Just check who it is you're sneaking up on before you jump out at them next time," Edmund advised, still holding the wailing child.

"I will, I will! I feel terrible though, surely there's something I can do to make it up to her?" The leopard asked earnestly.

So, after a long back and forth about whether or not anyone did anything wrong, they eventually sent the mortified leopard off, to Edmund and Lucy's considerable relief.

"But where in Cair is completely safe?" Edmund asked a moment later as the three of them walked back inside the castle.

"Not the hallways," Lucy said, stretching her back with a wince.

"And most of the rooms would be occupied at this time of day," Edmund added, then his eyes brightened, "but what about the throne room? It has barely anything in it because it's meant for so many people!"

"Good idea!" Lucy said, and they hurried towards it.

* * *

Half an hour later, Lucy and Edmund were situated comfortably on their thrones as they watched Amna wander around the pillars and stare out the stained-glass window behind them.

"I guess Robin's advice wasn't so bad after all," Edmund said, contentedly slumping as he watched the little Calormen run her hands over a wall mosaic.

Lucy, whose feet were dangling over the arms of her throne in a way Susan would never allow if she had known, smiled.  
"I told you so."

"It was a reasonable doubt at the time!" Edmund protested, turning towards his sister, "Birds and humans are very – what's wrong?"

For Lucy's eyes had gone very wide, staring towards the slightly ajar door to their left that led to the Visitor Meeting Room.  
In which Peter was currently discussing policy with the Calormen ambassador.

They both lurched to their feet, sprinting for the toddler who was pushing it open curiously.

Now, dear listener, it is imperative at this point for you to know two things: one, that beside this door was an old suit of armour on display. It was old and fragile, but not viably rusty. And two, that the left arm of this armour stuck out just _slightly_ into the doorway, which, of course, posed no problem for the door, which swung inward, but was quite a hazard for hasty entrants.  
And I suppose King Edmund, who was hurtling towards said doorway, could be called a hasty entrant.

_Crash!_

The armour snagged at his shirt, and his momentum destabilised the armour and the young king, who staggered to a stop only to find a suit of armour crashing down upon him. Lucy, being very close behind him and travelling at a similar speed, could not stop in time, and crashed right down with them.

When the door swung open, the only one left standing was the cherub-like figure of little Amna.

Peter and the Ambassador jumped to their feet at the sound of the crash, gaping open mouthed at the sight of King Edmund and Queen Lucy lying on the floor among pieces of the scattered suit of armour.

"Daddy!" the toddler cried and stumbled towards her father.

Moral of the story: children are menaces.

Oh, look at the time! Your mother will be cross if you're not in bed when she comes back, so look alive!  
That means go to bed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> So, I definitely did not do this idea justice, but what else is new XD And I'd like you to know, that even if you guys didn't enjoy this, I was cackling with glee through the whole thing (which is likely how it almost reached 3000 words and it also likely makes me one of those weirdos who laughs at their own jokes, but you see if I care - if they're funny, I'll laugh!).  
> In fact, I could have gone on for ages about way more than just making sure the kid didn't get into trouble - nappies, mispronounced words that sound like swear words, tantrums, SO MANY POSSIBILITIES... combining all this, Murphy's Law, and these two adorably naïve and clueless monarchs would have been VERY entertaining for me!
> 
> ...disclaimer, I love babysitting and kids, but sometimes it's tiring and crazy. I'm currently taking delight in trumatising poor Lucy and Edmund with the worst senerios I can come up with, not expressing an opinion :)
> 
> Enjoy, and hopefully see you tomorrow!
> 
> Trix


	4. Thief

## Prompt 4# Rare Talking Beasts

So, Tyler, did I ever tell you about a master thief who tried to rob Cair Paravel?

No? Good.

* * *

It began with a missing necklace. And Lady Paulette of Archenland was very upset, as ladies who have misplaced a dwarven-made heirloom necklace of emeralds tend to be.

"Lady Paulette, there's already so many people looking for it, I'm sure we'll find it soon," Queen Susan soothed the distraught and tearful noble in a misplaced attempt to placate her.

"It was passed down from my great great great grandmother and I just – I just…" the lady continued rambling right over the top of Susan, paying her absolutely no mind.

"I understand you're very upset, perhaps you would like to retire to your rooms while we search?" Susan asked, tugging gently at Paulette's arm.

"…I just wouldn't be able to look my grandmother in the eye ever again!" Paulette finished dramatically, covering her face with her hands.

Gently guiding the distraught noble towards the door, Susan took a deep breath, reminding herself that Lady Paulette was just upset, and that as long as she kept her patience, she might be able to reassure her.

About three quarters of an hour later, once Susan had gently and patiently extricated herself from Paulette's clutching arms, she hurried to find Lucy, who was coordinating a few talking beasts in search of the missing trinket.

When the young queen caught sight of her older sister, she gave her a sympathetic smile, asking, "So, I don't suppose she told you anything about where she'd last seen the necklace, dear sister?"

"Unfortunately, not," Susan replied with a weary smile of her own, "her state did not allow for questions."

"I can imagine."

How these two had been putting up with Lady Paulette for this long is beyond my reasoning as a narrator, but, needless to say, this was not the first of the lady's episodes, and it was likely not the last.  
It was fortunate, and this was something Susan held on to very strongly, that the lady would leave as soon as the Summer Festival was over. This year they had invited the court of Archenland to join them, which had turned out to be a mistake.  
King Lune was too busy running his country for a long absence and Crown Prince Corin, it being the height of summer, was planning an 'adventure'. Both Corin and the king had selected proxies to attend in their stead, as diplomacy dictated.

While King Lune's proxy, Sir Jonathan of Anvard, was mild mannered and easy-going, Corin had chosen Lady Paulette, in what was probably, to his mind, quite the prank. Take heed, young Tyler, because inflicting difficult people on your friends is a good way to loose your friends.

"So, any luck?" Susan said, shifting their attention away from their difficult guest.

"No, though Syrral assures me that they've checked every blade of grass in the garden," Lucy said, "And Oscar says they've checked all the likely spots in the castle."

"What are we going to do then?" Susan asked, thinking of what Lady Paulette would say if they told her the necklace might be lost for good. And who would likely have to endure every exclamation of dismay? Probably Susan.

"Well," Lucy said reluctantly, opening her mouth, then shutting it again, "I – well, we-"

"Lu, just say it," Susan told her, bracing for more bad news, which wasn't long in coming.

"Well, as they were looking, I asked a few people if they had seen it, and it turns out that the necklace isn't the only thing missing," Lucy said with a worried frown.

"What else is missing?"

"A jewelled hairpin, a shiny stone, a set of keys, one of the mouses' swords," Lucy listed, rattling off items off the top of her head, then pausing to get out a piece of paper before continuing to list half a dozen other missing items.

"That's – well," Susan said, shocked at the length of the list, "That's a lot."

"Indeed, and that's after I removed the items that had been lost before yesterday morning," Lucy sighed, glancing at her sister uncertainly.

"So, we have a thief," Susan said heavily, and Lucy nodded at the confirmation of her suspicions.

* * *

"So, what do we know?" asked Edmund as they sat around the large wooden table in the library.

"That most of the items were stolen between today and yesterday," Lucy said, pushing the list into the middle of the table so everyone could see. The list was quite considerable, so much so that I would be impressed with the thief if it wasn't morally wrong to approve of stealing.

"And that because so many guests have been arriving for the Summer Festival this evening, it could be anyone," Susan said, thinking of all the new faces she'd seen over the last week. Finding a thief would be worse than finding a needle in a haystack; needles weren't trying to hide.

"Most of the items were were stolen outside," Peter added thoughtfully.

"That's true," Edmund admitted, "But the items on the list all have something else in common. They're all shiny or green."

They exchanged uncomfortable glances, but none of them jumped to the obvious conclusion. I would say that jumping to the obvious conclusion in this case would have been correct, but I suppose following the general rule wasn't _entirely_ the wrong thing to do.

"But-" Lucy said, uncertainty colouring her voice, "it could have still been anyone. Lots of the items held monetary value too."

"Not the shiny stone, or the stained glass, or the square of velvet-" Edmund listed, but Susan interrupted.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, we've determined a connection, but we don't have any solid proof that it was a bird," Susan said, tugging at her dress' sleeve.

"And all this talking doesn't accomplish anything," Peter agreed, standing up, "let's go and ask around. Maybe we'll find another clue."

* * *

The hunt for the thief became personal when a feathered figured swooped from a tree and stole Edmund's crown from his head.

They had returned to the garden to discretely question a few victims in an attempt to get more information, but so far hadn't had any luck. They were in the middle of asking a mole where he had last seen his shiny green stone when it happened.

Lucy, catching some movement in a nearby tree from the corner of her eye, saw the bird begin to dive and ducked, calling out a warning, "Watch out!"

Edmund, quick as he had been trained to be, spun, preparing to protect his sister, but he had mistaken the danger, and the thief took advantage, snatching the crown into its eager claws and banking up towards the trees.

_Whoosh_

"My crown!" Edmund cried, and they all looked up to see the silver circlet disappearing into the woods, "Follow that bird!"

The four raced off into the woods, following the faint glint of the silver as it flew through the trees.

In all truth, if the thief has been any less ambitious, or any less tired from all his previous thefts, the humans would have lost sight of him fairly quickly and that, as they say, would have been that. But, fortunately for the four monarchs, they were at an advantage in this instance.

But just as they felt they were catching up, the bird suddenly dived and disappeared into the undergrowth.

"Where'd he go?" Lucy puffed, stopping in the centre of a large clearing.

"I think we lost him," Edmund scowled, but continued to scan the canopy in search of the thieving bird.

"There!" Susan pointed, her keen eyes spotting the bird and the crown hidden beneath a large flowering bush.

"Oi, you!" Edmund cried, "Stop right there, in the name of the High King!"

"I'm right here you know," Peter muttered from beside him, but didn't object as the four walked quickly over to the criminal.

"The High King?" The bird squawked in shock, "What about him?"

The bird was standing perched atop Edmund's crown, in front of a large nest-like set up. Sticks of all sizes stood upright in two rows, forming a bower with a secluded tunnel running through the middle. All around it were the green, grey, and white trinkets taken from all around Cair Paravel. Close to the centre lay Lady Paulette's heirloom necklace.

" _I'm_ the High King," Peter said sternly, frowning at the Bowerbird, "And this is King Edmund, whose crown you stole, and Queens Susan and Lucy. Now, explain yourself – why did you steal all these things?"

"Wai- this is _your_ crown?" the bird said, looking up at Edmund's stormy face, "Oops."

"Indeed," Edmund growled, holding out his hand, "I'd like it back now, if you please."

"O-of course, your majesty," the bird hastily hopped off the crown and backed away, "Terribly sorry, I must've mistaken you for someone else."

Edmund scooped up his crown, but didn't place it on his head, still wary.  
"It doesn't matter who you thought I was," Edmund said, crouching to speak to the bird better, "stealing other people's crowns is wrong."

"Oh -oh, no, I wasn't _stealing_!" The bird exclaimed, "I was _borrowing_!"

"I'm sorry," Susan interrupted, "but what was your name? I'm not sure we've been introduced."

"Barney, at your service, your majesty," Barney said, bobbing his head in imitation of a bow.

"Well, Barney," Edmund said, still a little salty, "if you didn't ask permission, it's called stealing."

"But I intended to return everything!" The bowerbird protested, "I just needed Angelina to see it, then I would have taken everything back."

"Angelina?" Lucy asked, "Who's Angelina?"

"The love of my life!" Barney said dreamily, hopping from one foot to another. Because of course every thief has to have a motive.

"Well, Angelina or no, you have to give everything back now," Peter insisted.

"But – but Angelina-" the lovestruck bird began, but no one was having it. 

"Any girl who is only interested in your wealth is not worth it," Susan advised gently, crouching down next to Lucy.

"But no self-respecting bowerbird every gets a girlfriend without fancying up their nest!" Barney said miserably pacing back and forth in front of his stolen treasures.

"Why don't you return all this now, but ask to borrow the trinkets next time?" Lucy suggested, "We're not saying you can't decorate your nest, but you shouldn't take other people's things without asking."

There was a charged moment as Barney considered their proposal.  
"…fine," the bird conceded, "I'll return it all. Angelina's already rejected this nest anyway. I thought adding the crown would change her mind, but if you're taking that, I may as well start over anyway."

And so it was that many Narnians were extremely happy to have their stolen items mysteriously returned as swiftly as they had been taken.  
The only person left unhappy with the arrangement was Susan, who had to listen to Lady Paulette express her ecstasy, at length, after the noble had finally found the missing necklace on her own windowsill.

"…and I cannot believe the ineffectiveness of your people! To be unable to find my property when it was in such a perfectly obvious place!" the lady exclaimed, going on to list the virtues of keeping a good staff and to give Susan unwanted advice about searching for things _properly_. She wouldn't listen when Susan tried to explain that it was a _bird_ , and that he had returned her necklace to the windowsill where Paulette had found it, so eventually Susan gave up.

Which is to say, that sometimes there's just no pleasing some people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't believe I'm posting this, because it's really just silly and not that good but I couldn't think of anything better and I had to come up with something.
> 
> Also, you all should look up Australian Bowerbirds! Their nests are really truly amazing.
> 
> Anyway, maybe see you tomorrow if my brain finally decides to come up with something actually good :)
> 
> Trix


	5. Unfortunate Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 5# One event, two stories. Neither exactly correct.

Unfortunate boy, you say,

All roses for all but me,

As the mist slips round your shoulders,

And all you can see are trees,

When all escaped the river city,

Who was left but me?

As figures all around me falter,

I set out, alone, it’s agreed,

All friends are safe within their walls,

And who is lost but me?

Mountain paths and lonely deserts,

When will I be free?

Chased by lions numerous times,

Why is it always me?

I am the unluckiest boy in the world,

No new perspective I see,

Then a new figure appeared,

Tell me your sorrows, says He,

For I do not call you unfortunate,

And living, upon you I’ll breathe,

There was only one Lion you met in your life,

Every stumbling step of the way,

Only one Lion who chased you to friends,

Chasing through night and through day,

I was the one who you met at the Tombs,

And who drove the jackals away,

I was the one who pushed you to shore,

In a boat among sea spray,

I tell you your story and nobody else’s,

Though your perspective is flawed,

You fall at My feet and ask for My name,

“Myself,” echoes from the Lion’s maw.


	6. And All Were Better For The Telling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 6# How did Digory discover the Four had gone to Narnia? Bookaverse, since the movieverse already has canon.

Telling stories is important.

Why? Why?!

Oh, for goodness sake! How else do people learn? And, for that matter, what would we do with the stories that eat us up inside? Stories have a will of their own and often have a tendency to come out at the most opportune times, even if you’d rather they stay hidden.

Fine. Let me put it this way.

* * *

It began with an innocent question, as many troubles do.

“Sir, where _did_ you get that wardrobe from?”

And clearly that was a hard thing to answer. For when you grew a tree out of a magical apple from a magical land no one else believes in, and then from the tree you built a wardrobe, it’s a rather difficult thing to explain to a young man ‘where _exactly_ ’ you got the wardrobe from.

“A tree.”

“Really? What type of tree?”

Oh no, now the older girl was interested. But it’s hardly as if he could properly explain it to her either. She was the one who scoffed at the idea that her little sister could have found a magical land in said wardrobe. No, no, this wouldn’t do at all.

“An apple tree.”

It was true that he was a busy man and he probably didn’t have time to be talking to these children at all, but it was their last night, and despite Mrs McCready’s protests, he wanted to give them a nice meal all together before they returned to the chaos of London. Besides, what kind of host never talked to his guests?

However, if he had known they would pursue the topic of the wardrobe, perhaps…the youngest boy interrupted his thoughts with yet another query.

“Why an apple tree?”

Now that was a good question. But how to answer?

“I quite liked the apples, I suppose,” the Professor revealed, taking his final bite of the delicious meal the cook had prepared for them.

“We planted an orchard of apple trees once, I wonder if your apples tasted anything like Narnian-” the youngest girl began, but the eldest cut her off.

“I doubt it, Lu,” Peter said, clearly trying to divert attention from what she had revealed.

“I’d like to think they did,” the Professor answered, fixing his eyes on the little girl. What was her name? Ah, Lucy. That’s right. She was the one who had ‘found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe’. “That’s where the apple seeds came from, after all.”

All four sets of brown eyes went wide and shocked, fixing on him immediately.

“Do you mean to say that the apple seeds that planted the tree the wardrobe was made of came from Narnia?” the boy named Edmund burst out excitedly, bouncing slightly in his seat.

Now he was an interesting one. Not more than a few months ago, he was rather a bully to his little sister, but then something had seemed to change within him. It was quite miraculous, actually, the way his character had changed. An ‘act of God’, as his mother would say.

The Professor clearly had no idea how right that statement was, but everyone who had read a certain book called _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , will know exactly what I’m talking about.

“Certainly,” the Professor told him, with a tiny smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. It was rather fun to watch the excitement ripple through all the children…but then he realised what that meant. It seemed the game was up, so the Professor asked, “I suppose that means you’ve all been there yourselves? It’s not often I run into someone who has.”

“Yes, sir!” Lucy said, eyes shining with wonder, “We’ve been to Narnia! Through your wardrobe!”

“We’d best retire to the drawing room, I’d think,” Digory decided, “I’ll need to get my pipe. For we’ll all want to hear each other’s stories, and I’d prefer to be nice and settled in my armchair when we start, for we’ll not be moving for some time, I suspect.”

He could not have made a better suggestion. All four children eagerly moved to the drawing room, and the five travellers stayed awake long past their bedtimes listening to and sharing their treasured stories and becoming firm friends.

And, of course, all were the better for the telling, especially Digory. For keeping a good story to yourself is like burying a coin in the ground – which is absolutely of no use to you whatsoever – and Digory had been burying his for quite some time, excluding Polly, who was there at the time and doesn’t count.


	7. Leading the Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 7# “Throw me to the wolves and I will return leading the pack”

“We’re never going to live this down, are we, dear sister?” Edmund puffed as he and Susan caught their breath behind a rocky outcrop.

“You might not, dear brother,” Susan said, sticking her head out from behind the rocks to look behind them, “but I’m sure my reputation will be perfectly intact. Especially since I wasn’t _I_ who promised Peter that this little outing wouldn’t cause him any trouble.”

Edmund ignored the reminder, also glancing back the way they’d come. “I think we lost them,” he declared with some satisfaction, “Good. It seems we were fine after all!”

“That’s excellent news,” Susan said, straightening, “Now-”

But both monarchs froze when a howl echoed from close by.

“Run!” Ed hissed, and they both took off into the dark forest.

The trees closed in around them, tearing at their sleeves with course bark and making the ground slippery underfoot with pine needles.

The two were somewhere in the southern woods and had been investigating with Mr. Tumnus whether or not the Dancing Lawn, after all these years, was still in existence. After finding it intact, Mr Tumnus had mentioned that his father had a few good friends who lived close by, and the small group had split up, which had been their first mistake.

The howls sounded again, closer than before, and they doubled their speed, heading back towards the lawn.

“Ed, I think I should use the horn,” Susan said from beside him. She figured that it was better to do it now, while she still had breath. She had been holding off, in truth, because she worried that it wasn’t serious enough, so she wanted a second opinion.

“No! We can make it to the horses. Mr Tumnus said he’d stay at the Badger’s den, so he’ll be safe. We just need to get to the horses,” Edmund told her between gasps.

Then there was no more talking, just running. Sweat dripped down Susan’s forehead, but she couldn’t spare the time to wipe it away, nor calm her beating heart, which pounded a tattoo inside her chest.

Lungs working like bellows, the two finally made their way out of the woods and into the open space of the Dancing Lawn. It was about that time that they realised they had made their second mistake.

For while the Dancing Lawn was where their horses were tied up, they had overestimated how far the wolves were behind them. And as they crossed to the middle of the clearing, the wolves, perhaps twenty or more, shot out of the trees, using the big open space to surround them and cut them off from their means of escape.

They both stopped dead in their tracks, the wide eyes of the children meeting the cruel canine ones of the fell wolves.

Susan looked past the wolves to the other side of the Dancing Lawn. The horses were tugging at their leads, trying to flee from the wolves.

“Ed! I don’t about your pride – I’m going to blow the horn!” Susan huffed, leaning on her knees, but never taking her eyes off the circling wolves in front of them.

Edmund looked at her for a second without saying anything, but then he nodded firmly. He was pale, she noticed, and the worry in his dark eyes was unmistakable.

She took out the horn, sounding it as hard as she could.

It echoed through the southern wood, ten times louder than the wolfish howls, pure and clear as Glasswater Creek on a clear summer’s day.

The sound cut off as Susan gasped for air, and the wolves closed in, sensing weakness.

“Son of Adam, daughter of Eve, it seems we’ve finally caught you alone,” the pack leader said, stalking ahead of the group to talk with his prey.

Susan really hated wolves.

She hated them the way Edmund hated winter; with a burning passion fuelled by experience. Their howls, their predatory demeanour, she just – well, she just hated them. Which is to say, she was completely terrified of them.

“We’re not alone, we’re with you,” Edmund said blithely, if a little out of breath. Susan said nothing, trying to swallow the sudden sob that rose in her throat. _No,_ she told herself firmly, _you need to be brave. Like Lucy._

“That’s not what I-” the leader began, but clearly (and wisely) decided that it was best not to engage with such childishness, especially when Edmund was obviously stalling, “Either way, you children have been playing kings and queens for long enough.”

“Oh no, we’ve got a crown and everything,” Edmund said with a smile, “Peter’s is real gold and everything, so we’re not ‘playing’ at anything.”

“A crown doesn’t make a king,” the wolf snarled, walking closer.

“No,” Susan finally joined the conversation with as much grace and grit as she could muster, “it doesn’t. But at least we were _given_ the authority.”

“Unlike your _dead_ witch,” Edmund said, suddenly perfectly serious.

Susan could have throttled him. They were supposed to be _stalling_ , not provoking the vicious beasts!

With a snarl, the wolf attacked, lunging towards Edmund, but Susan already had her bow out and an arrow on the string.

_Thump_.

The body of the alpha, struck through the heart with an arrow, fell heavily onto the grass of the Dancing Lawn.

And then they attacked.

Edmund drew his sword, and they stood back-to-back, two swimmers helplessly caught in a riptide.

“I’ll clear a path towards the horses. Cover me.” Susan said shortly, and then began shooting, completely immersed in her task.

Ed covered her, though it cost him a few scratches, and they slowly began moving towards their horses. Only, it seemed that the wolves had noticed their trajectory and put all their efforts into herding them in the exact opposite direction. No more could Susan focus on clearing a path, now she had to put all her effort into just staying alive.

And then the horses finally wrenched free of their leads and bolted.

Susan couldn’t blame them.

It looked like this was the end for our fierce heroes –

What? This is too scary for Jude? Are you joking? It’s just getting good! You’d think my eldest sister would show her kids scarier things than this – do you know how many times she’s tried to get me to watch one of her Scandinavian thrillers?

…Fine. I suppose I could skip the gruesome fighting and go straight to the next ‘less scary bit’ as you call it. Any more complaints? June? Alex? No? Good.

So, it _looked_ as if this was the end for poor Edmund and Susan, but obviously it wasn’t. And my saying so really spoils the tension, but whatever. Let’s make the five-year-old happy, why don’t we.

In good news, however, the wolves, in their efforts to keep the two away from their horses, had given them an opening, maybe not in the direction they wanted, but an opening all the same.

“Now!” Edmund shouted, indicating the gap with his sword point, and the two of them took off towards it, not bothering to engage the wolves any longer apart from a quick swipe here or an arrow there.

Soon, the situation had reverted, returning to essentially the same scene that began this story; with Edmund and Susan running for their lives from a pack of angry wolves.

“Susan! Edmund!”

“Over here!” They shouted, well, as much as one could shout when one was running as fast as they could away from a small army of pursuers.

And then they were surrounded again, but not by wolves.

There were a few great cats, the friendly giant, and two centaurs.

“For Aslan!”

The Narnians engaged the enemy, defending the kings and queens the true King had given them with a passion that outmatched that of the fell wolves, who fought for a dead and dreadful tyrant. This was made particularly apparent when, seeing the Edmund and Susan surrounded by such allies, the fell wolves turned and ran with their tails between their legs.

Susan and Edmund stumbled to a stop, finally safe among friends, and lay flat on their backs, breathing hard and fast with their eyes closed.

“Are you alright?” Came a high voice, and they opened their eyes to see Lucy standing above them, a worried look on her face.

“…we’re fine,” Susan said, struggling to sit up, still flushed from running.

“Thanks for coming, Lu,” Edmund told her with a weak smile, “You sure got here quickly though.”

“Yes,” Lucy grinned, “about an hour after you left, Peter realised that there’s no chance you wouldn’t run into trouble, so we decided to come and see if you needed some friends. Seems he was right.”

“What would you have done if we were perfectly fine?” Susan asked, heart still pounding like a freight train.

“I don’t know,” Peter said, approaching his siblings, the battle clearly over. “But it doesn’t really matter at this point. Chased by wolves-” Peter snorted, “-’no trouble’ indeed.”


	8. Worthless Without Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 8# Describe a character in 100 words without naming them

I’ve always thought that the shadows help us more easily discern the light.

But there isn’t any light here, under the ground.

I always said that we were likely to die down here in the dark, and never see the sun again. Though apparently the sun doesn’t exist, so perhaps we won’t see it again anyway. Apparently, Aslan doesn’t either, but even the dream of him is better than this reality.

They tell us that this is all there is.

Well, if this is all there is, I don’t suppose life would be worth anything. It’s all worthless without Aslan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to anyone who can guess the character!


	9. And He Certainly Did Not Deserve It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 9# The Birth of Eustace

There once was a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he certainly did not deserve it. He was a baby, for crying out loud!

Mary marched into the Director of Birth, Deaths and Marriages’ office, her fists clenched and her face set.

“Sir, may I have a moment of your time?” She said, reigning in her impatience. This had to be handled right, or else a great injustice would be committed.

The Director looked up from a stack of papers that were currently gracing his desk. Seeing the look on Mary’s face, he set them aside.

“You may. What’s on your mind, Ms Williams?”

“Sir, I am in the midst of finalising a birth certificate to one Mr and Mrs Scrubb and I am greatly disturbed with the name they have chosen for their baby boy.”

“That sounds serious, what name have they chosen?”

“Eustace Clarence,” Mary said with a wince.

The Director cringed as well but had to admit that it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. There were worse names than ‘Eustace’, or even ‘Clarence’, and he knew this because there had been many an awful name that had crossed his office over the years. _This_ name could hardly call to mind the horrors of ‘Fartwell’, ‘Bony’, or…well, other names that simply should not be repeated aloud. *

“While the name is certainly not ideal, neither is it actually offensive, and thus…” The Director trailed off, smiling sympathetically at his young employee. It was a tough blow, but there was nothing to be done. The boy in question would just have to live with his parents’ choice and, if it truly was that bad, change it when he reached eighteen.

“But Sir!” Mary exclaimed, “Surely it is our job to protect this helpless child from-” but the Director cut her off.

“Ms Williams, I know you are new to this job, so I will forgive your impertinence this once. In relation to the giving of names, it is neither our job nor our prerogative to vet the names of the children born in this country. The only time we would even _consider_ stepping in is if the name is actually offensive. I now kindly ask you to get back to your work, unless there was anything else?”

Mary sighed unhappily, “No sir, thank you sir.”

It seemed that this child, wholly innocent in the matter, was going to be forced to bear the name anyway, despite Mary William’s best efforts. She only hoped that this boy never grew to deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So, I looked up ‘Worst Baby Names’ and the list was…extensively horrifying. Seriously. Everything from actual swear words, genitalia, and sad little names like ‘One Too Many’ – I mean SERIOUSLY? WHAT POOR YOUNGEST CHILD GETS CALLED ‘ONE TOO MANY’? It’s just so cruel and literally says ‘we didn’t want you’ in big neon letters which is truly awful.


	10. I miss her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 10# Lucy Remembers Her Mother

It’s never quite the same.

Without them I don’t

sleep, for the arms that enfolded me,

spoke of love and hope

Brother tries to hold me close,

his arms are strong and sure.

But never do they know me quite

like the ones I wish would draw

me close and hold me dear,

stroke my hair and keep me near

Sister tries to comfort,

her arms are gentle, sweet.

But never can she replace

Those I’ll never again meet

The Lion’s mane is warm,

perfect, lovely, true.

My heart aches

For there are none like _You_

And even though I leave behind

the arms I held most dear,

I know I will feel them again,

In the country free from fear.

* * *

“Hey Lu, what are you writing?”

“Oh, um, poetry I think?”

“You think?”

“Well, I was thinking about what Cor asked the other day, and I suppose I wanted to put my feelings into words.”

“About the Other world?”

“Yes.”

“Can I read it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“…this is really good. Is it about mother?”

“Yes, I miss her sometimes, you know?”

“I know. I do too.”

“Do you think we’ll ever go back?”

“I don’t know. Probably not, but who knows what Aslan has planned?”


	11. My Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 11# "Kidnap me from my reality and crushed pieces of my soul colour me outside the lines until my shattered heart is whole" - Perry Poetry.

“No, brother, not for all the jewels in Tashbaan.”

And what a relief it was to say too!

“ _Truly, sister, I should have loved you the less if you had taken him._ ”

Was I the only blind one?

Why didn’t they tell me? Or would I not have listened? Blinded by the treacherous hope I had dared entertain. I hoped – I hoped to find companionship, to make an alliance, to grow and be…but no.

“ _Come, live with me and you’ll know me_ ” indeed.

“Then, in the name of Aslan, let us leave Tashbaan this very day.”

But ah, the caveat.

Why had I not thought to look for one?

I _knew_ it was not love, thinking it might come, yet I had come anyway. Oh, what a fool was I!

When I left, to cross the seas, wind playing through my fingers and a strange hope resting in my heart, I was full and safe. No note of danger reverberated in its dissonant way into my soul, no breath of trouble.

“Easily in but not easily out says the lobster in the lobster pot!”

Trapped.

We shouldn’t have come.

Silent tears ran down my face.

We shouldn’t have come, and this is all my fault.

“As to that, I do not doubt that every one of us would sell our lives dearly in the gate and they would not come at the Queen but over our dead bodies.”

I’m trapped, and not only that, but I’ve brought down Edmund and Corin and Swallowpad and Mr Tumnus and – and –

They’re all going to die, and I won’t even get to die with them.  
And it’s all my fault.

Waking visions of burning houses and the dead bodies of my brother and our companions flickered across my mind. Blood. There was blood everywhere and the place was _burning,_ and I was dragged away and –

Maybe, maybe if I accept, he’ll let them go free? I’ll not have them die for me when it was my own folly that brought me to this precipice. I’ll not let them be dragged over the side with me.

“I am the cause of this,” I cry, unable to hold back a sob, “Oh, if only I had never left Cair Paravel. Our last happy day was before those ambassadors came from Calormen. The Moles were planting an orchard for us…oh…oh.”

My own folly.

And what a folly it was!

For I had everything and lacked for nothing, yet still I wished for what wasn’t mine to have.

And in all the wrong places, tempted by that hope – and what false hope! I _let_ myself be kidnapped, lured by an illusion, and now, now –

The green green grass of Narnia, so sweet and soft. The laughter of my sister as she dances with the dryads, throwing her head up towards the stars. The quiet lapping of the waves at Cair Paravel, overlooking the gleaming Eastern Sea.

I will never see it again.

Never.

And worst of all, I’ve doomed them all to go with me! Their blood is on my head. My hands will be stained with it.

I hide my head in my hands, shaking, trembling, trying to hold myself together.

 _My fault_.

“The only difficulty is how to get down to our ship…” I couldn’t let myself dare hope. Shattered shards of broken hope cut sharper than never having any at all. I _couldn’t_ let myself. After all, wasn’t it my misplaced, blind hope that got us here in the first place?

 _My fault_.

“…and as soon as it is quite dark-”

“Up sails and out oars-!”

“And so to sea,”

“And our nose Northward,”

“Running for home! Hurrah for Narnia and the North!”

Hope like a blossom in my chest.

I could no more prevent it than I could prevent the coming of Spring.

It turned sorrow into dancing, despair into rejoicing.

But deep in my heart, the seed of self-recrimination had been planted, wrapping tangled roots around my hopeful heart. _Simply being saved doesn’t mean you didn’t make a mistake,_ it whispered, _it doesn’t mean it didn’t almost cost Edmund his life, and the lives of everyone here_.

I buried it.

But it grew, shattering my soul like a tree root beneath concrete.

_My fault_.

I became afraid of making mistakes. But who among you can stop making mistakes?

_My fault_.

But why did it have to be my fault? Nothing happened. Why do I always have to take responsibility?

‘Susan, look after Lucy’ ‘Susan, be mature’ ‘Susan, be _perfect_!’

Well, I’m not perfect and I’ll never be! Blame me all you like, but I can’t be who you want me to be. And I can’t live with your expectations.

So, I’m leaving.

_My fault_.

A train station.

Bodies.

Broken bodies everywhere.

_My fault_.

I wasn’t with them.

Even in death I couldn’t ever compare to them.

 _Perfect_.

_My fault._

The funeral.

Three bodies laid out in a row.

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” *

You are perfect.

And maybe I didn’t have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Matthew 11:28-30 NIV


	12. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12# The moment someone outside first noticed the Witch’s Winter

1st March 900, Aboard the _Wanderlust_ on route to Narnia

Dear Aunt Gloria and Uncle Madison,

Today I am so excited I can barely contain myself!  
I am finally on my way home, after all these years, and I look forward to seeing Mother and Father again. It has been so long. And little Morgan must be so much bigger now! He will have grown so much while I was away, and he’ll want to compare heights.

The waves roll around the bow of the ship throwing spray up into up face as we fly across the Eastern Ocean. Blue skies, summer skies, the sun warm on my skin as the salt catches in my hair as it dances in the wind. I love the open ocean; it holds so many possibilities.

I’ll admit, I am glad that I left Narnia – to have explored the Seven Isles, traded my wares, and visited you – but I’m am gladder still to be on my way home.

There’s nothing quite like the green hills of Narnia. Of the talking beasts, the living trees, the divine waters, and our wise King and Queen who look after it all. I am so looking forward to being there again!

Continued 2nd March 900, Aboard the _Wanderlust_

Something terrible has happened.

As we approached the port at Cair Paravel, we were given pause by the line of white on the beach. From a distance, it looked like fog, but as we got closer, we realised it was _snow_.

Which wouldn’t be unusual if it were winter, though even in winter it was rare, but it was spring. It should be spring.

As we got closer, a figure came out onto the snowy beach.  
We lowered a rowboat and came to shore.

He told us that it was White Witch.  
She had cast Narnia into an eternal winter and turned talking beasts to her side, sweeping across the country, leaving death and destruction in her wake.  
The King and Queen have been killed.  
Cair Paravel has fallen.

The man, Aaron, had hidden, for he was without the means to flee, but most who could had fled.Those who couldn’t escape had been killed.

He begged that we take him with us, he begged the mercy of Aslan, and how could I refuse?

I don’t know what to do, but it’s clear that if my family stayed behind, they’re likely dead. Perhaps they sought refuge in Archenland or one of the islands? I may not ever know for certain their fate, butI will set my course for Archenland and hope for news of my family.

I write to warn you not to come and visit us this summer as you promised – it is too dangerous, and you will find naught but a desolate winter waste where our home used to be.

May Aslan help and guide us.  
Your faithful niece,

Kali


	13. In The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13# One time where the stars and rumours conflict

Do you know, that sometimes, by so firmly holding onto the fact that you’re right, you can miss what’s right in front of you? Most people would call it blindness, or selective focus, but, then again, other people tend to like putting things gently. I would call it arrogance.

Well, Jack, nobody wanted to hear your opinion anyway! This is a story, and if you _feel_ it’s particularly aimed at you, well then perhaps you should pay attention.

Once upon a time there was a young centaur called Firstfrost who lived during the reign of Caspian X, and came from a very very very _very_ long line of stargazers. By which I mean that they were good at predicting world-changing events using the stars.   
And no, I don’t mean ‘divination from Harry Potter’, Ophelia, because that is utter rot; even those characters thought so! No, I mean that where we saw a conjunction of planets, they saw the birth of a king, and a solar eclipse became an impending disaster. It’s not fortune telling, more like prophesising.

Anyway, as I was saying, Firstfrost came from a long line of star-diviners.

He was young, but his family had been teaching him the art for as long as he could remember. He was an outspoken soul, often unable to keep his mouth shut when he thought he had something to say, which, by the way, was a lot.

One night under the Summer Circle, young Firstfrost was out on his own, studying the heavens in all their incomprehensible glory. There was the Spearhead, the Ship, and the Leopard, hanging above him like jewels on a crown.

Now Firstfrost wasn’t out here by chance or whim, he was not struck by sudden insomnia, neither was he simply stopping to admire the stars on his way home. No, Firstfrost was out here on a mission. He aimed to make his first prophecy, despite his youth and glaring inexperience, and was searching for signs among the stars.

By the by, he came across a certain planet in conjugation with a certain constellation. Now, I won’t try to explain to you _which_ planet or constellation, because I don’t actually know myself. If you really, _really_ want to know then you should look up ‘ _A Compendium of Premature Conclusions_ ’ by Markus Bronte Nickleson, which you should be able to find in the Secret Archive in the North Pole. Never heard of it? Rubbish! If everything _you_ hadn’t heard of didn’t exist, barely anything would!

Now, stop interrupting! You two are incorrigible.

No matter what he saw, he came to the conclusion that it meant something, and went rushing home to tell his parents, siblings, and friends.

And so it was, that a great many Narnians began to believe that Trumpkin the Dwarf was going to kill the King Caspian the tenth.

Now, now, before you start arguing with me, it didn’t begin that way. In fact, all Firstfrost insisted, was that a king was going to die through betrayal. But, of course, when you’re relying on dryads, men, talking beasts, and literally anyone who can talk when playing a large game of Chinese Whispers, the message is going to change by the time ‘a’ gets to ‘b’.

So, it went something like this:

“Hey! Leafdawn! I was watching the stars last night and they say a king is going to be betrayed and assassinated!”

“What? Really? Which king?”

“I don’t know, could be anyone!”

A day later Leafdawn went to see Old Bertie:

“Hey Bertie! Guess what I heard yesterday!”

“What?”

“The king’s going to get betrayed and murdered!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Firstfrost saw it in the stars.”

Then Bertie had a conversation with Swiftcloud the raven:

“Hey Swiftcloud? Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“That King Caspian is going to be betrayed and killed!”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know, but it would have to be someone close to him, right?”

And Swiftcloud talked to Willow:

“Hey Willow! I assume you’ve heard about the king?”

“No, what about him?”

“Someone close to him is going to betray and kill him!”

“How close?”

“I don’t know, like maybe an advisor or something?”

“Like Trumpkin? He’s the king’s most trusted advisor.”

“Sure, I guess…”

Now, by this time, Firstfrost had told his father, who was sceptical, to say the least. For he had heard nothing of any such occurrence and knew the stars and their patterns.

The very next night, he had gone out with his son to observe the sign described.

“Son, that is not…”

“No, see! It’s got that planet in conjunction with-”

“Son, that’s not a planet.”

“Yes, it is! See how it glows red!”

“No, that is Centuris. It is a star.”

“But-”

“Son. I hope you told no one of your prediction, because it was based on misinformation.”

“…”

Hence, why you should never be so sure you are right. Nobody knows anything, and anyone under twenty knows less than most. I’m sure you’d love to hear about what happened when that particular rumour reached Cair Paravel, but I can hear Maggie coming up the driveway, so there’s no time. Ask me next week.

And no Jack, this story has absolutely _nothing_ to do with your insistence in informing me that you would be able to avoid being convicted of a crime by enlisting in the army before your court hearing. Despite the fact that doing so is generally forbidden. And your statement entirely false. Can you hear my sarcasm, Jack? _Nothing._


	14. Oh dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 14# Valentine’s Day

No, I won’t do it. You know I hate Valentine’s Day, so no!

“But Uncle Daniel, you love telling stories! Please please please please?”

No. And that’s final, Sophie! You too, Jean! Now don’t go looking at me with your puppy-dog eyes! Just because Hope wanted a night out with your father doesn’t mean I have to regale you with stories of love and romance. The whole holiday is a capitalist sham anyway.

“ _Please_ Uncle Daniel!”

No.

“ _Please?_ ”

…fine. I’ll tell you a story about something that _happened_ on Valentine’s Day in Narnia, even though Valentine’s Day technically doesn’t exist in Narnia and I resent the very name of this wretched day. Be warned – there will be no candy hearts or shopping centre discounts here!

So, Valentine’s Day, Narnia, 952.

There was a lovely family of badgers. And Mrs Badger and Mr Badger loved each other very much.

They lived a happy life in endless winter, trusting in Aslan and aiding Archenlanders in trading to the Narnians for food, since endless winter means everyone would starve to death otherwise.  
And then were turned to stone by the White Witch. The end.

I was wrong, I can’t do this. Go play some video games or something.

What? I got rid of all the video games because you lot were spending too much time on them? Well then, go watch a movie!

What? My tv is NOT broken…oh, actually it is. I need to get that repaired.

FINE. Put on the kettle. I’ll tell you a story.

* * *

_Dearest Susan,_

_I have been thinking of your beauty ever since you left Anvard last summer. Your lovely dark hair and your sparkling eyes have bedazzled my heart. I cannot look upon another female face without wishing it were yours. Your mere presence has enchanted me beyond belief, and it is my deepest wish to be by your side._

_I have realised that I cannot continue to live without seeing you, and so I have decided to prepare to leave at once for Cair Paravel in hopes of glimpsing your face and of asking you if you would do me the honour of agreeing to marry me?_

_Your most ardent admirer,_

_Prince Corin of Archenland_

“Oh dear,” said Susan, placing the letter carefully on her desk.

She really hadn’t known the Prince very long, and while she felt they’d quite enjoyed each other’s company last summer, she certainly was not interested in marrying him. He was nine!

But how to refuse him? That was the question. She certainly did not want to cause an international incident and was unsure whether King Lune had approved his son’s proposal. By rejecting Corin, Archenland might take such insult as might be grounds for war. Not that Susan supposed the good-natured King would take such a course of action, but it was hard to tell anything from the letter.

“Well,” she said to herself, “I had better tell the others.”

So, she picked up the letter and headed towards Peter’s study, pausing to ask two young Squirrels if they could possibly find Queen Lucy and King Edmund so they could meet her there.

Reaching the threshold, she knocked politely to make sure Peter wasn’t already busy with other business.

“Come in!”

She entered, closing the door behind her.

“Susan! What troubles thee?”

“A marriage proposal,” she revealed with a sigh, “from the Prince of Archenland.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, “I thought Corin aught but nine? Surely he is not old enough to marry!”

“Therein lies the problem, dear brother,” Susan said dryly, “for customs differ from country to country, and while _I_ would not marry a boy less than half my age, there is no telling what the custom is in Archenland, and I am ever wary of causing offence.”

“I see.” Peter put down his quill and moved the papers he had been working on to one side, giving Susan his full attention.

It was then that Lucy burst in forgetting, as usual, to knock.  
“What is the matter?” She asked, looking from one sibling to another, “My good cousin Pinenut said you looked much disturbed, when she came to fetch me.”

“The news is not so bad,” Susan began, eager to reassure her sister, but didn’t get to finish before Edmund slipped in through the open door.

“What news?” He asked, sinking into an armchair by the empty fireplace.

“Our dear sister has received a marriage proposal,” Peter answered, looking ever so slightly amused, “and she is disinclined towards causing an international incident, despite her admirer’s unrequited feelings.”

Lucy and Edmund grinned, both relaxing now they knew it wasn’t urgent.  
Susan knew that in a moment, one or both of them would start teasing her, and she wasn’t prepared to let them start.

“The prince is but nine years of age, and I cannot conceive of it. However, I know not the customs of Archenland, and so am usure if rejection on such grounds would be taken with grace.” Susan held up the letter, offering it to her siblings.

“Well,” Edmund said, waiting for Lucy to pass it to him, “as far as I know, Archenland’s customs are much the same as in Narnia. We are sister nations, after all; Archanland was founded by Prince Col, the descendent of King Frank, the first king of Narnia.”

“So, you don’t believe our good friend and ally King Lune would take offence?” Susan confirmed hopefully, this time looking to Peter, since Edmund was reading the letter.

Peter was about to respond, but was interrupted by Edmund’s snort of amusement, which he quickly tried to cover up with a fake-sounding cough.

“Do you find aught funny, dear brother?” Susan asked, innocent as a stalking cat, “Pray, please tell us so we may share in your amusement.”

“I – erm,” Edmund hesitated, glancing nervously at Susan, “I was merely recognising the author’s keen observations about your visage; your ‘sparkling eyes’ certainly have ‘bedazzled’ many hearts.”

Now it was Lucy’s turn to hide a laugh, though for her, such a task proved impossible, and she burst into laughter, causing Edmund to also lose his composure.

Susan glared sternly at the both of them, definitely _not_ amused.

“And – and” Lucy said between laughs, “your presence is, without a doubt, ‘beyond belief’!”

They both became lost to laughter, and Susan glared harder. It was all very well of them to make sport of her, but how would _they_ feel if they had to turn the Prince down?

Peter was reading the letter now, and was grinning openly, but thankfully didn’t laugh at her.

“But dost it not say that the Prince is heading to Cair this very day?” Peter questioned seriously, ignoring their two younger siblings in the corner.

“It does,” Susan agreed, “which is the reason I have asked for assistance this day. For, in case he _would_ take offence, it would be preferred that we four all know about the matter so we can be _delicate_.” She glared again, this time more pointedly, at Edmund and Lucy, who sobered a bit at the reminder. Someone’s heart was on the line, after all.

“So, dost thou plan on rejecting the poor lad immediately after he arrives?” Edmund asked, only half joking.

“Perhaps it would be better to do so after dinner?” Susan considered, “He will have travelled far, and it is best not to deliver bad news on an empty stomach.”

“You speak the truth, sister,” Lucy smiled, “for it would hardly do to crush his ‘deepest wish’ _and_ send him home unfulfilled!”

Edmund and Lucy burst into more laughter, and their mirth bubbled up and filled the room. It must have been infectious, because even Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, though he quickly became serious when he caught Susan’s eye.

“It sounds like we four are in agreement,” Peter said, “after dinner we will leave the two lovebirds alone so he can stare into your ‘sparkling eyes’ and have his heart shattered.”

And that set all three of them off again, so Susan was forced to leave, rolling her eyes with a sigh. It was easy for _them_ to laugh. It’s not as if _they_ were going to be the one to “shatter” the young prince’s heart.

* * *

In fact, Corin arrived that very afternoon, beaming from ear to ear in a way that told anyone who had known him for longer than a few days last summer (i.e. not Susan), that he was up to no good. No good at all.

During dinner, he asked some polite questions, generally commented on the deliciousness of the food, and excitedly regaled them with a tale of his latest adventure; facing down an old non-talking bear who lived in the mountains. Unfortunately (or rather, fortunately), the bear had been away from its den, but Corin had still emphasised the danger. For the bear might still have been in there, and he would never have known until it jumped out, killing him.

Finally, the moment arrived that Susan was dreading.  
They were left alone on one of the balconies, looking out into the darkness in silence.

Susan was in the process of gathering her courage when Corin spoke first.

“So, did you get my letter?”

“I – uh, yes,” Susan stammered, caught off guard.

Corin laughed, pointing at her face and doubling over.

“What?” She asked, wondering if there was food on her face, “Why are you laughing?”

“You should see your face!” Corin gasped, “It’s priceless!”

Susan just looked at him.

After a good few minutes, he looked up at her, still grinning.

“So, tell me, what did you think when you got it?”

“I uh – I was surprised?” Susan said, confused as ever, “Corin, what’s going on?”

“It was a perfect prank, wasn’t it?”

Susan groaned, placing a hand over her face.

“It was a joke?”

“Yes!”

Susan sighed, she knew Ed and Lu would split their sides laughing if they ever found out.  
She would never live it down.

And thus, so ended another Valentine’s Day, full of jokes and stinging laughter.  
The end.

Now, look at the time! You guys need to go to bed now. Goodnight!


	15. In The Wood Between Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 15# "The woods have remembered you ever since the first time you got lost in them."

Sometimes when he dreamed, he dreamed of the woods.

The trees that reached up and brushed a foreign sky, and the deep, deep pools that held entire worlds. The air was fresh and strange, leaving you drifting in a hazy sea of blues and greens.

In his dreams, he lay down in the soft grass beside her, and they were children again, unanchored from the world they knew. They lay like that for hours and hours, just gazing up at the impossibly high canopy and the green light as it filtered in dappled pools and moved across their faces in lazy serenity.

In his dreams it was always serene. A serenity untouched by the worries of the worlds, of crazy uncles, dying mothers, and wars. Most of all wars. Because when you’re a child you don’t have to worry much about anything unless it’s truly serious, and even then, it doesn’t quite kidnap you the way the mind of an adult is so easily kidnapped by worries.

When the war started, and he spent all day worrying about this and that, he dreamt of the Wood Between Worlds more often. And when Polly became a nurse and he enlisted, the woods appeared every night, calling to him with their peace and promise of rest.

They called to him as his days turned into nights, and as his comrades died beside him in the trenches.

They called to him as a letter gave him the news that his father, also fighting in the war, had not lived to see the end of it.

They called to him as he shot a soldier, and he wondered if a mother had just lost a son.

He was weary of sorrow, worry and heartache, longing for the woods that made it drift away like a leaf caught in a summer breeze. As he lay beside the doorways to a thousand worlds and watched the leaves rustle with his hand in hers, his mind finally felt quiet. The woods sang a lullaby to the soul, laced within the strange, sweet air. Perhaps the woods would remember him? It had always seemed more alive, richer than Earth, and you could _feel_ the trees growing.

Of course, he knew it was a false peace, and the worries would come rushing back the moment he returned to Earth, but the memory was strong, and peace was such a precious commodity these days.

Maybe when he was older, he and Polly could go back. Digory and Polly, explorers of new worlds. Wishful thinking maybe, but it was a good thought. A good memory to clutch at when the world fell apart. A good dream at which he could smile, despite imperfections.

Digory and Polly in the Wood Between Worlds.


	16. World's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 16# Burning White

You want a “good” story? Are my other stories so bad you have to specify?!

Ah, so you really just want a _comforting_ story, without much conflict or darkness. I see.  
What difference does it make? Most of my _endings_ are happy anyway.

Oh.  
Go put on the kettle, I’ll see what I can think up.

* * *

When the music that began the world begins to sing it to sleep –

Hey! I know what you asked – be patient! And endings are only sad if you think what’s after is going to be worse.

_Ahem._

When the music that began the world begins to sing it to sleep, all creation hears, knows. For the chord that called them into being still reverberates through their bones, and when the Singer calls again, they know they’re going Home.

He shouts, “TIME,” and out of the deep caverns, Father Time awakens, rising from beneath the earth, sounding the horn.

And the stars fall from the heavens in eager drops of burning white, running and racing Home at His call.

And the world dissolves into creatures and chaos, but the Faithful follow His voice.

And though the waters rise and tremble, and the mountains crumble, and the sun turns to blood, and the moon is consumed in its redness. Though Father Time crushes the sun, and the world turns to ice, He has brought you Home.

So, even though worlds crumble and end, you are secure as long as you follow His voice and His song. And His Home is so much better than this world, so much so that we can’t even imagine it fully.

How’s that for a “good” story, Tyler?  
Now, let’s have a look at some of those bruises.


	17. The Scenic Route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 17# Dragon

Once upon a time, there was a mountain that lay on the boundary between Narnia and Achenland commonly known as ‘Mount Pire’, but was locally called ‘Firetop’. It was to have remained relatively undisturbed for several decades, though in truth, it was more like a century, until the events of this tale.

Lucy rode doubtfully beside Corin, who was an erratic travelling companion at best, and miserable at worse.

“Art thou sure-” What? No old English? But it’s canonical, and I would’ve thought you would have learnt it in school by now. No?   
Oh, very well, I suppose stories are told to be understood first and foremost. But I’ll have you know, I’m _severely_ disappointed in the current state of education in this country.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes.  
Lucy was riding her non-talking horse in the south-west of Narnia with Corin.

“Are you sure this is the right way to go?” Lucy asked, glancing nervously at the increasingly mountainous landscape, “Anvard is to the south-east, but you keep taking the south-western paths. At this point I’m not sure we’ll get there in time for-”

“You’re worrying too much!” Corin declared, a grin on his face as he leant into the wind, “We’re just taking the scenic route.”

Lucy frowned. There was something about that grin that had been bothering her.   
It had first appeared when they had followed the Archen River instead of turning east and had grown wider and wider as they had gone on.

The two travelling companions had come across each other around midday at the Dancing Lawn. Corin had been given permission to explore the Lantern Waste, and so had been returning from the west of Narnia, and Lucy had been heading to Anvard to act as a Narnian representative at King Lune’s 40th Birthday Party*. Seeing as both were headed in the same direction, they decided to travel together, for while there is safety in numbers, there is also good company. Though, whether that word applies to Corin is much debated.

The path Lucy was travelling became even more rocky, and the slopes of the mountain rose above them like the looming presence of a gathering storm. In fact, the clouds themselves were also stormy grey, and the wind brought the smell of imminent rain.

“Corin, it’s going to rain soon. We should find some shelter,” Lucy said, testing the breeze as it rushed down the mountainside, cold and unforgiving. Just as she said it, the rain began to fall, small droplets quickly dotting her hands and cheeks.

“Come on! I think I see a cave up there!” Corin replied, raising his voice to be heard over the suddenly gusting wind. The rain became sleet and stung their arms, tossed in the wind like little dressmaker pins and needles.

Her horse’s hooves slid on the now slick rocks and nearly threw Lucy to the ground, but she managed to keep her seat.

“Easy, Olive, easy,” Lucy whispered into the mare’s ear, stroking her mane. Then she dismounted, realising that leading the horse was probably safer than riding her at the moment.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, but we need to get out of this rain!”

The two made their way up the mountain, one hand leading their horses by their reins, and the other shielding their faces from the stinging sleet.

Finally, they made it to the cave, which was deep and long, and strangely warm.

“Not that I mind the adventure,” Lucy said with a smile after they had settled the horses and taken off their wet cloaks, “but we would have been much quicker to take the normal route, so why take us out this way?”

Corin grinned, “When I was out west, there were rumours about Mount Pire. Except they call it ‘Firetop’ because they say a dragon lives here!”

“What? A dragon? For how long?” Lucy was deeply curious. Here was something she’d never heard about.

“They _say_ ,” Corin said theatrically, “that no one has been brave enough to go check in a few decades, but that before the Hundred Year Winter, a dragon named Sloveticus lived here, and used to swoop down and eat anyone who came near to his lair!”

“How do they know he’s still alive?”

“Well, they say that on particularly dark nights, the dragon likes to fly to the top of the mountain and blow a plume of fire into the air. No one knows why, but that’s why they call it ‘Firetop’.”

Lucy was bursting with questions. She wondered if they’d see the dragon while they were here. Wouldn’t it be exciting if they got to see the plume of fire on the top of the mountain?

 _Peter wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was going dragon-spotting with Corin_ , a little voice in the back of her head told her, but she dismissed it with a smile. What Peter didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and since they probably weren’t going to meet Sloveticus, there would be no reason to think he’d find out. The stories might have just been rumours, after all.

As the rain showed no sign of abating, the two companions decided it might be best to settle in for the night. The cave was surprisingly warm, and so they needed no fire, and the prospect of smoking out the cave seemed such a bad one, that both were very willing to eat a cold supper. And, of course, no one bothered to ask the obvious question; why was the cave warm? But that’s usually the way it is when one is finished a long day of travelling, because once you’ve stopped, nobody wants to do much of anything.

Unfortunately for Corin and Lucy, there was a very good reason why the cave was warm, and it, or should I say _he_ , approached whilst they rested their heads in weary slumber.

Solveticus gazed upon the creatures who had, quite rudely, trespassed into his home without permission. There were four: two equines; one son of Adam; and one daughter of Eve.   
Grumbling softly, he took the son of Adam in his claws and turned, making his slow way back into his home. He'd come back for the daughter of Eve later.

Lucy woke with a start, the smell of smoke in her nostrils and an unexpected sense of urgency in her heart.   
She turned her head, looking for Corin in the darkness, but finding nothing. There was no sleeping figure where it should have been, only the abandoned cloak that had rested under him.

“Corin?”

Nobody answered.

Lucy cautiously got up, grabbing her dagger just in case, gripping the hilt firmly as she approached Corin’s sleeping space to investigate.

Nothing.

She turned to her right, seeing and hearing the thunderous storm, which had not let up.

Perhaps he had woken in the night and heard the call of nature, but not wanting to go out into the downpour, had gone deeper into the cave?   
Lucy immediately felt a little silly when this reasonable explanation presented itself. Why was she gripping her dagger? It was clear Corin was probably just further back into the cave and she should wait for his return.

Lucy walked back to her own sleeping spot and sat down to wait. But, having assured herself of all fears to Corin’s safety, her body saw no need to keep her awake when there was clearly a long day of travel ahead, so she quickly fell asleep.

The sunlight shining through the open mouth of the cave woke her, and she immediately turned to the sleeping spot opposite hers.

Still empty.

The cold chill of fear ran down her side, and she snatched up her dagger from where she had left it last night.

She walked over again, and crouched down, feeling the empty cloak.  
It was cold. Corin had not returned in the night.

Slowly, she turned to her left, gazing into the deep darkness of the cave.  
Well, there was nothing for it but to go.

Sending a quick prayer to Aslan, she got up and strode deeper into the cave.

It was dark, but still dry and warm, and the light from outside filtered in enough that she could see what they hadn’t bothered to investigate the night before; deep claw-marks and scorch-marks along the walls.

 _Perhaps there really_ is _a dragon,_ Lucy thought nervously, but didn’t slow her pace or look back. Somebody had to rescue Corin, after all.

After a few twists and turns, the light growing ever fainter at her back, and her free hand reaching out to touch the tunnel wall, she finally reached a point where the light was coming from ahead of her. It was getting warmer too.

The warm yellow glow of flames greeted her as she entered a huge cavern, filled with gold, jewels, silver, and a few oddities and trinkets.

She couldn’t yet see the dragon, for by now she knew for certain there _was_ a dragon, or Corin, so she stopped to examine the dragon’s treasure.

There was the usual material wealth, but among them she could see little remnants of ages past. A little wooden box of gold and silver hair ribbons, with Narnian designs on the outside. A delicate silver candlestick with fine engravings running up and down the edges. And, strangest of all, a door inlayed with precious jewels and metals, standing upright, and seemingly leading to nowhere in particular.

Lucy had to tear herself away from examining the curious objects of Solveticus’ horde, because she still hadn’t done what she’d came to do: find Corin. And maybe meet a dragon.

“Hello?” She called out, “Corin?”

“Shhh!” She suddenly heard from behind a pile of gold to her right, and she made her way towards the sound, being careful not to make more noise than was necessary.

Turning the corner, she found a strange scene, of Corin behind the bars of a golden cage, and the dragon sleeping peacefully beside it.

Solveticus was a round, old dragon, but he was still fairly large. Perhaps about three Lucys in length and two in height? His scales were the colour of freshly burnished copper, and he looked rather soft, despite all his spines and horns along his snout and spine.  
A small plume of smoke was drifting from his nostrils peacefully, and it seemed that he was the source of the warmth that had encompassed the entire cave.

“Lucy!” Corin said, still whispering, gesturing for her to come over, “The key is right over there!”

He pointed to a spot beside the dragon’s tail, and Lucy crept carefully towards it. Unfortunately for her, she slipped on a loose coin, of which there were many, and landed hard on her tailbone.

“Ow,” she yelped, then clapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done.

The dragon awoke with a mighty groan, and rose to his feet, looking sleepily at his most recent guest.  
“Who’s there? Why are you so inconsiderate as to wake me up in the middle of the day? Speak up! My ears aren’t what they used to be.”

Solveticus’ eyes opened sleepily to reveal emerald green eyes, that, despite their obvious age, were still piercing. They pinned the two humans to the spot.

“Ah, Queen Lucy of Narnia, Sir,” Lucy said, deciding to err on the side of friendliness, despite Corin’s incarceration.

“Of Narnia?” The dragon questioned, “A queen of Narnia, yet your name is not Jadis. Curious.”

“No sir, Aslan defeated the White Witch many a year ago, though I suppose it isn’t so long to your way of thinking,” Lucy said, speaking loudly.

“Indeed. Though I suppose you have no way of proving it.”

“Well, sir, it’s not winter in Narnia anymore,” Lucy offered, unsure how to convince him, “My brothers, sister and I fulfilled the prophecy, and Aslan crowned us.”

“Let’s have a look at you,” the dragon murmured, moving his large head uncomfortably close. After a moment of intense scrutiny, he nodded slowly, “Hmm, I see. You speak true.”

“Yes sir. Could you please release Corin?”

“I’m afraid not. You see, I only took him to warn him off going into Narnia, but when I did, he only shouted and told me he was going to “knock me down” if I didn’t let him go. Well, I’m not about to let him get himself killed, not on my watch.” Solveticus, turned towards Corin, who was scowling mightily.

“Well, how would _you_ like it if someone kidnapped you while you were sleeping? I’d jolly well like to see you take it any better than I did! I thought you were going to _eat_ me!”

“ _Eat_ you? Of course not. You’d be much too stringy, and besides, just because you’re uncommonly foolish doesn’t mean I should eat you.”

“Excuse me,” Lucy interrupted, “But since the Witch is gone, Narnia is perfectly safe. So, perhaps you could release him? We were on our way to Anvard, in any case, so it would be most unreasonable to hold him.”

“Hmmm, next I suppose you’ll tell me that I shouldn’t shoot fire into the air on the top of the peak to warn people away from Narnia anymore,” Solveticus grumbled, but lumbered towards the key, scooping it up in his razor-sharp claws.

“ _That’s_ why you do that?” Corin said as the dragon unlocked his cage, “I thought it was because you were trying to lure people closer to eat them!”

The dragon snorted, and flames flickered above his snout, “No, youngling, when the Winter began, I was made Gatekeeper of the south-western pass into Narnia. I was to make sure none wandered in who could not get out. I certainly had no interest in _eating_ them.”

The cage door sprang open, and Corin jumped out, landing with a _clink_ on a pile of coins.

“Well, as Queen of Narnia, I formally relieve you of your duties,” Lucy declared with a smile, “and informally invite you to visit Cair Paravel sometime. I’m sure my siblings would love to meet you, especially since you must know so much from before the Winter!”

“All the same,” Solveticus said, lying back down, “I think I rather like it here. It’s nice and quiet, but I may come and see the Castle by the Eastern Sea. When the weather is fair, and the day is right perhaps. I thank you for your invitation.”

The dragon curled up and closed his eyes, “I wish you well on your travels and thank you for your gifts of freedom and knowledge. I would extend more hospitality, but I fear I am growing rather tired. Goodbye.”

And then Solveticus let out a snore.

Lucy and Corin left quickly and quietly, taking advantage of the good weather to set out again for Anvard with one more story to tell, and Corin was told firmly to avoid any more ‘scenic routes’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So, I don’t know how old King Lune is, but considering the age of his sons and the comparative common historical lifespan of humans in times of similar technology, I suppose he couldn’t be older than fifty, and probably couldn’t be less than thirty. However, that said, please feel free to voice your own opinions on the matter.


	18. Oh Rhindon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 18# How was Rhindon created, and/or how did Father Christmas receive it to give?

Yeah, well Father Christmas never gave _me_ any presents, so I’m allowed to believe what I like!

“Well maybe you’re on his naughty list, Uncle Daniel!”

Pft. As if, Jean. If _I_ was on his naughty list, you’d almost certainly be on it too. And besides, though he may not come to this world for one reason or another, he certainly visits other worlds. And he brings _them_ presents!

“What sort of presents?”

Well, Sophie, all sorts. Magical presents like healing cordial and practical presents like sewing machines and swords. In fact, how about I tell you a ballad written about a most famous sword? Father Christmas gave it to a High King. Its name was Rhindon.   
And no, I’m not going to sing – the book I found it in didn’t provide a melody in any case.

* * *

**_Oh Rhindon_ **

Oh Rhindon, forged in light,  
Edge is sharp and true,  
Warrior king is burning bright,  
In white and every hue,

Oh Rhindon, from pure steel you came,  
Forged in fire, forged in flame,  
Swinging sure through sun and rain,  
Granting mercy, ne’er tame.

Oh Rhindon, master blade,  
Passed from Blacksmith,  
From hands that made,  
To hands that plan a gift,

Oh Rhindon, from the bag you came,  
First seen in winter’s waning claim,  
Swinging sure in frost to gain,  
A place in stories that would never fade,

Oh Rhindon, you of owners few,  
Giv’n by the man in red,  
He was jolly as the springtime grew,  
Hairs of white upon his head,

Oh Rhindon, from a scabbard came,  
To make a warrior, of worthy name,  
Swinging in a grip untrained,  
To protect, and to save,

Oh Rhindon, providing selfless protection,  
To the innocent, below and above,  
Mirroring Aslan, in his resurrection,  
Who gave his life in love,

Oh Rhindon, to a king you came,  
Forged in fire, forged in flame,  
Swinging sure through love and pain,  
Granting mercy, ne’er tame.


	19. How to Avoid Squirrel-Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 19# Rescue from the Temple of Tash

Twignut was in a bit of a jam.  
Mostly her own fault, if she was being honest, but that wasn’t quite her immediate concern.

“Excuse me,” she asked an acolyte in a red robe, “would you mind letting me go? I have somewhere to be, you see-”

But she was quickly cut off, “Silence, barbaric beast!”

Twignut huffed, “I was only asking, no need to be a jerk!”

“Silence!” The acolyte hissed, glaring at the little squirrel, “you’re not supposed to talk!”

“Why not? I was given speech, so why shouldn’t I?”

The acolyte scowled, “You’ll get me in trouble for talking to you, and besides, you’re going to be sacrificed anyway, so what’s the point in talking about it?”

“Sacrificed?!” Twignut shrieked, leaping towards the bars as the unfortunate acolyte stumbled backwards to land on his bottom in fright, “You idiots are going to _sacrifice_ me?”

“Shut up!” The acolyte said, glaring furiously and scrambling to his feet, “We’re going to sacrifice you to Tash the Inexorable, you should be honoured!”

“ _Honoured_?!?” Twignut shouted again, not at all deterred, “To be sacrificed to a birdbrained false god by a bunch of lunatics? What does ‘inexorable’ mean anyway?”

“It means irrestistable, I think,” the boy said, “and I’m here to bring you to the sacrifice, so you’d better stop talking!”

“Would _you_ stop talking if _you_ were going to be sacrificed?” Twignut said, tiny paws searching the golden cage for any weakness.

“Why do you care?” Said the boy, who by now was quite sullen. He knew he was going to be late, which meant that his punishment was not going to be long in coming. He made a grab for the cage, but as soon as his hand drew close enough, Twignut leapt at it, clawing and biting at whatever she could get at.

“Don’t you dare even try it, birdbrain!” She snarled fiercely after he had snatched his hands away, which was quite a feat for a squirrel, “You’re not sacrificing _me_! Not today, not ever.”

“I am _not_ a birdbrain!” the boy cried, and by now he was feeling quite miserable, for his punishment would be all the worse if one of the elder priests had to come find him.

“Yes, you are! You’re worshiping a _bird_ with six arms! That makes you a birdbrain.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“Yes, it does!”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“ _Yes,_ it does!”

“Oh, shut up, will you! Animals aren’t supposed to talk anyway,” the boy said, sitting down in defeat to watch his would-be captive.

“Why ever not? Aslan said we could talk, so we can! And He’s the one who created the whole world, so if anyone is able to say who should and shouldn’t talk, it would be Him.” Twignut approached the front of the cage, curiously looking down at the miserable, red-cowled acolyte. He didn’t _seem_ very convicted, just miserable.

“Who’s Aslan?”

“The Great Lion, who else?”

“The barbarian demon?!” The boy said, eyes wide, though not in fear. He had heard stories about the lion the barbarians worshipped, but they had never seemed as scary as the stories the priests told about Tash.

“Have some respect!” Twignut said angrily, “He’s the son of the Emperor Over the Sea, and He defeated the White Witch! He’s not a barbarian, and He’s certainly not a demon!”

“Sorry, I’d just never heard his name before.”

“Hmph.”

A few moments passed, the two lost in their own thoughts. The walls of the temple seemed to loom around them, carvings of Tash destroying the enemies of Calormen decorating the walls in shades of gold and luminous colours.

“Can you please just let me take you to the sacrifice?” The boy asked tentatively, his big brown eyes pleading.

“No!”

The silent stand-off resumed.

“If you didn’t want to be sacrificed so much, why are you here?” The boy asked, intending to distract poor Twignut so he could grab the cage.

“You birdbrained idiots trapped me! Sure, I wandered too close to the wrong part of Tashbaan, but that doesn’t give you right to capture a member of a diplomatic party and _sacrifice_ her!”

“No! The priests said you came in and _asked_ to be sacrificed – to cleanse yourself of your unnaturalness!”

“Rubbish! They’re a bunch of liars! Why on earth would I _want_ to be sacrificed to Tash the Inexcusable?”

“It’s ‘Tash the Inexorable’.”

“Does it look like I care?”

“No,” the boy admitted, sighing. He closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for his oncoming punishment.

A few more moments passed before Twignut broke the silence.

“You’re not trying as hard to pick up the cage as I expected. What’s got you down?”

“Why would you care?”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, and you don’t seem as bad as all the other birdbrains,” Twignut admitted, leaning against the bars.

“They’re not-” The boy stopped, “Well, I told you; they’re going to punish me for being late in bringing you. And one of them will come soon. Then they’ll punish me more.”

“Why don’t you run away? You don’t _have_ to be here you know.”

“But my mother sold me to-”

“Whoa, hold up! Your mother did _what_?!”

“She couldn’t afford to keep me, but she didn’t want me to be a slave, so she sold me to the Temple.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to _stay_ here!”

“But they’d call down curses on me, then when they caught me, they’d sacrifice me to Tash!”

“How do you know?”

“That’s what they did to Emmet.”

“By the Lion’s mane!”

“By whose mane?”

“The Lion’s. Aslan’s.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a bit longer.

“You know, they can’t sacrifice either of us if they can’t catch us,” Twignut murmured, glancing sidelong at the miserable acolyte.

“We wouldn’t make it past the gates without being spotted and caught.”

“Doesn’t matter, if you can get me to where the Narnians are staying, they’ll hide the both of us.”

“Both of us? Not just you?”

“Of course! Queen Lucy and King Edmund are good like that. I mean, this was their first diplomatic visit and I probably messed it up, so they’ll be just as eager as us to hide the evidence.” Twignut was getting really excited now, bouncing from foot to foot, eyes burning and darting from side to side.

But the boy still looked uncertain.

“Come on!” Twignut cried, “You don’t like it here, I don’t like it here, neither one of us wants to be punished or sacrificed, so let’s go!”

The uncertainty disappeared. The boy got up, grabbing the key from his robe and unlocked the cage.

Twignut, delighted with her freedom, raced up his arm, little claws pricking his arms.

“Ow!” The boy said, tensing up and cringing back.

“Oh, sorry!” The squirrel said, “I’ll be gentler.”

“It’s alright, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

And so, Twignut hid in the young acolyte’s robe as he walked nervously out of the Temple, whispering advice like “stand up!”, “look confient!”, and “pull your cowl down a little!” at unexpected moments so the boy jumped in fright, which of course, made him look even more suspicious.

Despite all this, both escapees made it out of the Temple without any trouble.   
Well, they made it exactly two steps out of the Temple gate before someone behind them began shouting.

“Hey! You, over there! Stop thief!”

“Run!” Twignut cried, and the boy bolted onto the streets of Tashbaan without looking back.

Down the main road they ran, ducking between merchants and market stalls, trying their best to get lost in the colourful crowds who were taking no notice. We all have our own problems, after all, and the people of Tashbaan couldn’t care less about someone else’s escaped slave.

“Way, way! Way for the Tarkheena Aravis!”

The crowd parted like water, and the boy, too slow in moving, was caught like a deer in the headlights, out in the open space before the litter bearing some Calormen noble or another.

“Run!” Cried Twignut again, and the boy, recovering his senses, made a dash for the crowds, but he was too late. A puffing red-cloaked priest lunged and caught the escapee’s hood, slightly choking the poor boy.

“Got you now, filth!”

“Oi! That’s rude!” Twignut said, poking her head out and scratching at the man’s exposed hand.

“OW!” The priest screamed and let go, allowing the two fugitives to disappear into the crowds without a sound as two slaves bearing a litter shouldered past the now-injured pursuant.

Finally, out of breath, exhausted and sweaty, Twignut and the boy made it to the house where the Narnians were staying.

It was a luxurious apartment, made of stone brick with lots of open windows to increase ventilation. Though door was shut, there were sounds of life from inside, but the boy hesitated to knock.

“What are you waiting for, someone to catch us?” Twignut said climbing up onto his shoulder.

“Are you sure they’ll let me in?”

“What, didn’t you hear anything I told you before, birdbrain?”

“I’m not a birdbrain!”

“What is your name then?”

“Seth.”

“Well, Seth, I’m definitely sure they’ll let both of us in, and if they don’t, I’ll go with you until you find somewhere safe.”

“Wait, really?”

“You did rescue me, after all.”

Seth walked up to the simple wooden door and knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, this is probably the end - irl is getting too busy for me to keep this up.   
> C'est la vie I guess.  
> See you next time!  
> Trix

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had an hour and a half's worth of spare time today, and so even though I never planned on actually doing this, I guess I'm doing this. (Partly for my own enjoyment, as you can probably tell by our jaded and unsympathetic narrator - may he discover the joys of empathy by the end of this).
> 
> Thus, I dedicate each and every prompt I write to YOU, dear friend, who encourages me to write more every day, even when I convince myself that I'm too busy. You know who you are.
> 
> Also, I didn't have enough time to properly edit this, so please forgive me any minor errors and point out the major ones anyway because this is about getting better, not my feelings.
> 
> Have a happy February! Maybe see you tomorrow, maybe not?
> 
> Trix


End file.
